Chapter 4

The memory was sharp and clear. They were sixteen. She'd been in another fight, this one more serious. A boy had pushed her down a flight of stairs. Archer had found her, a crumpled heap at the bottom.

He had carried her to the nurse's office, his face pale with a rage she'd never seen before. She had cried, not from the pain in her twisted ankle, but from the fear in his eyes.

"It hurts, Archie," she had sobbed, clinging to him.

He had held her tightly, trying to hide the fact that his own arm was broken from when he'd dealt with the boy who pushed her. "I know, Frankie. I know."

"What if he comes back? What if he hurts me again?" she'd whispered, her voice small.

He had been silent for a long time, his young face set with a grim determination. Then he looked at her, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that startled her.

"He won't," Archer had said. "No one will. Ever again."

"Why?" she had asked, confused. "Why do you care so much?"

"Because you saved me first," he'd said simply. "You pulled me out of the gutter, Frankie. You gave me a home."

He had taken a deep breath, and the words that came next were a vow. "I swear, Frankie. I will protect you with my life. Always."

At the time, she hadn't understood the weight of his words. Now, lying in a hospital bed because he had chosen to protect another woman, the memory was a bitter poison.

Archer's face flickered with something-was it guilt? But it was gone as quickly as it came.

Suddenly, Amelia shrieked. She had run to the window and was climbing onto the ledge.

"I can't take it anymore!" she screamed, her voice hysterical. "Frankie hates me, and it's all my fault! Maybe if I'm gone, everyone will be happy!"

It was another one of her dramatic plays for attention.

"You and Archer belong together!" she cried out to Francesca. "I'll just get out of the way!"

Archer's face went white with terror. "Amelia, no!" He lunged for her, pulling her back from the ledge and into his arms.

He held her tightly, his body trembling. "Don't ever do that again. Do you hear me? Don't you ever."

Amelia sobbed into his chest. "But Frankie... she needs to forgive me. I can't live with her hating me."

Archer's face hardened as he looked at Francesca. He dragged Amelia over to the bed.

"Apologize to her," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Now."

Francesca was still weak from her injury. Her side throbbed with a dull, persistent pain. She tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over her.

"Archer, I can't..."

"Apologize," he repeated, his voice like steel. He stood over her, his shadow falling across the bed. It was a posture of intimidation.

"No," she whispered.

He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh, and tried to pull her out of the bed. "I said, apologize."

The sudden movement sent a searing pain through her side. She cried out, her legs giving way. She would have collapsed if he hadn't been holding her up.

"You're so stubborn," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "So arrogant. Just like you've always been."

Her hospital gown shifted, revealing the fresh, stitched wound on her side. Blood was starting to seep through the white bandage.

He didn't even notice. He was too consumed with his anger, with his blind devotion to Amelia.

"Say you're sorry," he ordered again, his voice low and threatening.

"Never," Francesca gritted out, her eyes flashing with defiance despite the pain.

He looked truly furious now. "Your mother's death must have been fate's way of punishing you for being such a horrible person!"

The words struck her with the force of a physical blow. Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she couldn't speak, couldn't think. The room tilted.

"How dare you," she finally choked out, her voice filled with a pain so deep it was almost a scream. "How dare you say that to me."

"It's the truth!" he spat back.

With a surge of adrenaline, she grabbed the water pitcher from her bedside table and threw it at him.

Amelia screamed and jumped in front of Archer, taking the blow for him. The plastic pitcher bounced harmlessly off her shoulder.

"Oh, Archer, I'm okay," she cried, clutching her arm as if she were grievously wounded. "Don't be mad at Frankie. She's just upset."

Archer's eyes were filled with a mixture of concern for Amelia and murderous rage for Francesca. He scooped Amelia into his arms.

"I'm taking you to see a doctor," he said to Amelia gently, then glared at Francesca over his shoulder.

The look in his eyes was terrifying. It was cold, empty, and full of a chilling promise of retribution. "You've gone too far this time, Frankie."

He carried Amelia out of the room, leaving Francesca alone. She slid to the floor, her body shaking uncontrollably.

"As you wish, Archer," she whispered to the empty room. "Whatever you wish."

Only a few more days. Just a few more days, and then she would be gone.

She curled into a ball on the cold floor, the physical pain in her side nothing compared to the gaping wound in her heart, and wept.